Height
by Wicked42
Summary: Two times his height was a problem, and one time hers wasn't.


A/N: I am so impressed with the reviews in this fandom. There may not be a lot of readers here, but the ones who decide to comment always have encouraging and thoughtful replies. Thanks for the motivation, guys!

Sorry there's only three drabbles here. I ran out of ideas, but I figured it'd be better to post than let it collect dust.

* * *

**Height**

"Aren't guys supposed to be taller?" Casey asked, sizing up her partner as he poured himself a cup of coffee.

He raised an eyebrow and leaned against the stove, "Aren't girls supposed to be dainty and petit?"

She wrinkled her nose, "I had twenty-one years of being 'dainty and petit,' so forgive me if I don't exactly embrace my feminine side every minute of every day." Despite her words, she cast a glance at her usual uniform and frowned slightly.

Walsh hid a smirk behind his coffee cup and said, "I won't hold it against you."

Casey rolled her eyes and wondered how he'd turned this conversation against her. She bit into her hamburger—he'd kept it simple today—and complained, "Come on, Walsh. Seriously, how am I supposed to wear heels around you?"

"Uh," he looked somewhat confused now. "You put on the damn heels?"

"Did you _ever _have a girlfriend?" she said in exasperation.

"_We're_ not dating."

"No, but we may as well be having sex, with the amount of time we spend together."

Walsh always admired Shraeger's unfiltered speech. He put the coffee cup down and leaned forward so they were almost nose to nose. "Shraeger, if you wanted to have sex, all you had to do was ask."

She rolled her eyes and pushed his shoulder, "Ew, no. I'm just saying that a girl can't wear heels if it makes her taller than the guy she's with. It undermines his masculinity."

He laughed and untied the apron around his waist, "Detective, I'm never concerned about my masculinity."

Casey eyed his muscles—she'd never call them bulging, but damn it if they weren't close—and had to give him that point.

* * *

He watched her for twenty minutes, grinning outright as she struggled to reach the box above her. The storage room for cold case files was dusty, and the three rows of shelves had made for an interesting scavenger hunt, but Shraeger had finally found the box she needed.

And she couldn't reach it.

"A little help here?" she snapped, leaping up yet again to try and hook her fingers in its cut-out handle. It didn't work. Walsh grinned wider.

"I'm okay from over here, thanks," he replied, leaning against the far wall. The room was cool and dark and the sounds of the station were muted considerably. He would have left Shraeger to her own devices, but he was enjoying the moment of reprieve.

Casey growled at him—actually _growled_, he noted in amusement—and decided to try a new tactic. She gripped the shelf below the one she needed, wedged her foot in between two boxes around knee level, and hauled herself up. The motion brought her to eye level with the box she desired.

"Ha!" she said triumphantly, gripping it with her free hand.

Walsh saw trouble and unfolded his arms, "Shraeger, that's probably not—"

She tugged, and the box tipped off the shelf and crashed to the ground. Casey yelped and fell hard, landing in a flurry of autopsy reports and neighborhood maps. Walsh was moving before the papers settled, kneeling beside his partner as she gripped her head and moaned.

"Okay," she said, gritting her teeth. "Not the best idea."

"Nope," he agreed easily.

She shoved him in the chest, "You could have _helped_, Walsh."

"Wouldn't have made much of a difference," he said, shifting his position to feel the back of her head. She winced when he touched a sore spot, but there wasn't any blood, so he rocked back on his heels. "You'll live."

"You might not," she said.

"Just last week, you asked me why I wasn't taller. You think I could have reached that box?"

Caught, Shraeger grumbled darkly and began gathering the strewn files. Walsh bent down to help, but he didn't miss when she said, "Next time, I'll ask Alvarez."

"Well, he does love that 'damsel in distress' shit," Walsh agreed.

* * *

Walsh picked up the phone, as always, and was at the diner's door two minutes later to let her inside. He wasn't wearing a shirt, and Casey immediately paused, shifting on his doorstep. There was only one reason he ever answered the door without a shirt.

"You have a girl over."

"Yep," he said.

She took a step back, "Sorry, I'll just see you at the precinct."

He rolled his eyes, "She's showering right now. Come on, I'll make you breakfast." When she still hesitated, he scowled impatiently. "I'm trying to keep my diner from experiencing desert conditions here, Shraeger. In or out."

She slipped inside, and he locked the door behind her. He disappeared into the back for a minute, and he was fully clothed when he resurfaced. He washed his hands and said, "What do you want?"

"Whatever," she replied, settling down on her usual barstool. Walsh hummed and pulled out a carton of eggs and a loaf of bread. They sat in silence while he cooked, this area of their partnership well refined. He gave her a plate and she waited for the first slice of French toast.

Casey was in the middle of one such slice when a cute little blonde woman stepped out from the back, shaking her damp hair. The woman's eyes roamed the setting, noting Casey's half-eaten plate and Walsh busy dipping another slice into the egg mixture. She slipped behind the counter to kiss Walsh on the cheek, glancing down at the slice he was making.

"That's sweet, babe, but you know I can't stay for breakfast," she said.

Walsh smiled at her and replied, "This isn't for you." He flipped the bread over, cooking it to an even brown. Just when the girl started to frown, he said, "I can make you something else, if you want."

Casey wondered if what he made for this girl would be edible. She almost wished he _would_ cook her something, just so Casey could gauge how much he liked her. But the woman put a hand on his bicep and shook her head. "I really have to go, Jason. Next time?"

"Sure," he said.

She slipped around him, smiled politely at Casey, and picked her purse off the rack by the door. Then she walked out with a wave.

The door swung shut, and Walsh put another slice onto Casey's plate. He noted her half-eaten one and said, "You're falling behind. You full already?"

Casey watched the girl wave down a taxi and said, "She seemed nice. You two looked good together."

Walsh followed her gaze and shrugged a shoulder, wiping his hands on a nearby dish rag. "She's okay. I prefer my women at eye level. You want another one?"

"Yep," Casey said, smirking.

* * *

A/N: Once again, I dance around their relationship. Maybe one day I'll write a fic where they're actually together.

Hmm.


End file.
